


Deluge

by hlwim



Series: Extraction [3]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hlwim/pseuds/hlwim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shepard's gone, and Garrus goes looking for Kaidan. Post-ME1/beginning of ME2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deluge

** Deluge **

Palaven doesn't have rain—at least, not this much. Stepping off the shuttle is like falling into a deep, cold pool. Someone behind him makes a joke about feathers, but Garrus parts the water like a curtain and shoulders his way through the crowd without stopping. Humans on average barely break the two meter mark, so it's easy to see the departures board at the far end of the station. Train out of Vancouver, leaving in twenty minutes.

He spends the ride standing, talons curled around a handle bolted to the ceiling, still blinking away water. A child sitting across the tiny aisle stares, heedless of his mother's whispered warnings. Garrus raises his free hand and waves. The boy waves back and then laughs, even as his mother yanks him out at the next stop.

End of the line: he waits politely for the car to empty before trudging into the downpour. He's familiar with the concept, certainly, the cycle of evaporation and precipitation—he's seen grey clouds roll through the atmosphere like the bow of an ancient ship, the sudden rise and swell of a flood, the quiet rush of an incoming tide. But a flash of light makes him flinch and duck beneath the awning of a nearby shop. He's grateful to see another turian, until she starts laughing at him.

“Think you'll be a lightning rod, right?” she says. “Stand in a puddle, electrocute the block?”

She holds out the bucket in her arms.

“Umbrella? Ten credits.”

He manages to flirt a little information out of her. His destination is less than four blocks, and he's attractive enough to drop her price by five. He feels small outside of his armor, but with the umbrella, he dwarfs the trees. There are no ground vehicles, so he walks down the middle of the street, rechecking the address in Anderson's message.

It's obviously an Alliance district: everyone he passes walks with rigid purpose, shoulders back, eyes scanning the perimeter. Mostly officers, he's guessing, being close enough to the port to easily resume duty but far enough to pretend they're all somewhere else. The buildings are boxy prefab towers, bottom floors occupied by small cafes and convenience stores. Despite the rain and the thin film of dirt and old papers sticking to his boots, the district howls with emptiness. A planet of over eleven billion, and he's found the one corner bled dry of population.

He pauses at the end of the fourth block. Eyes follow him from the cafe across the street: three middle-aged men sitting at the counter, drinking cups of steaming coffee, glaring. Vets, maybe, but Garrus can see that the server is asari, and they seem indifferent to her. Just the same, he turns towards the opposite corner, to a small, brightly-lit grocery. There's another human, a teenage girl, behind the counter, absently thumbing through a magazine on her PDA.

“No dextro, sorry,” she says. “You can try the marina markets, though. There's a cabstand down there.”

She doesn't bother with a gesture or even looking up. Her hair is red, loosely gathered in a short ponytail at the base of her skull. When she does spare him a glance, a few strands fall across her clear green eyes.

“Actually, I was hoping you could help me find someone,” he says.

She leads him shyly to the staircase in the back, babbling about the store's security.

“Laura doesn't like an empty storefront, but no one's dumb enough to steal from us.”

She points up the stairs, to a short, uncovered balcony. Rain drums down on the metal rooftops, amplifying the distant boom of thunder. The girl stands close enough to share the umbrella's protection, her small hand burning through his sleeve.

“You can just go up. His door's never locked.”

She has small, uneven teeth and dark brows, and a little pink tongue darts out to wet her thin lips.

“My sister's in C-Sec. She keeps offering for me to visit.”

He wants to laugh, almost, but instead gently dislodges her fingers from his sleeve, wrapping them around the hilt of the umbrella. She looks like no one he knows.

“Keep it,” he says, starting up the stairs without a backward glance. Kaidan's name is printed on the slight door, and when he pushes it open, the voice hits him like a blast of desert heat.

_“It felt like the whole galaxy opened beneath me, these massive arms of steel and flesh stretching into an unfamiliar sun. How many years had it taken to build? To populate? I thought about the size of the engines powering the station, keeping my feet planted on that floor, and my head spun. I've spent my whole life on ships and stations, but this. This is so much more. I had no idea.”_

Water seeps from his clothes, his carapace, onto the thin mat beneath his feet. His heart pounds in his throat, and Garrus takes a few gasping breaths. It's not real, of course. He knows it's only her voice, has seen her mother quietly collect the Alliance flag draped over an empty casket, but for a moment...

He closes his eyes and flicks the light switch.

_“It's stupid. I'm twenty-two years old, and I can't look at my own body. What will they say tomorrow? Will they pinch and prod, peel my skin back from the joints to peer at the muscle beneath? They tell me it's not my fault, I did everything I could, tried so hard. I'm so lucky to be alive. Everyone asks, and they want me to be okay. I only have one answer: I know. I know. I_ know _.”_

He can't stop her name crossing his lips, a desperate whisper.

“Shepard?”

The door swings shut with his answer.

_“She looked so tired, and sad. I wonder what they meant to each other. She never really talks about her time on the_ Einstein _. I was with Dad then. I think we were fighting. I hate hanging up like that, all business. I should have told her how much I love her.”_

Kaidan's apartment is a poorly-bisected square, partitioned into smaller rooms by dirty tables and empty shelves. Garrus stands in the kitchen, between the wall and a buzzing refrigerator. Past a linoleum floor littered with boxes is a worn couch, a desk, a terminal scrolling static, a dirty window half-shuttered. On the other side of the wall will be a bed and a tiny bathroom. He takes another step inside and lets the bag fall from his hands.

“Kaidan?”

The sink is stacked with dirty dishes, and the fruit on the counter is soft and wrinkled brown. Broken glass crunches beneath his boots as he fords his way to the couch. He sees one limp hand dangling over the cushion and crosses to the far side.

Kaidan's alive, if unconscious, face smooth and blank in sleep. He's fully dressed, in a simple civilian shirt and trousers, one arm angled under his neck. A few days' growth of stubble dusts his chin and cheeks, and the hollows beneath his closed eyes are a milky blue. The floor around him is ringed with empty alcohol bottles. Garrus sighs, breathing in the dry closeness of an undisturbed tomb, and sets to work.

He starts with the bottles and boxes, gathering and piling and stuffing everything into the bin, summoning her voice from the abyss.

_“It felt like I was leaving a part of myself in that bunker. My hands were shaking so bad I couldn't drive. Kaidan took over while I crawled in the back, switched off my comm, and cried. I couldn't stop, even when we were back aboard. I couldn't get out of the Mako—I didn't want anyone to see me like that. Kaidan stayed, took my hand. He asked me to tell him about Toombs. I did.”_

He snaps back the blinds and opens the window enough for air.

_“There's something in his eyes. You always see that, in those stupid romance vids, those books. Like eyes are some emotional shorthand, changing colors or shapes. He hardly blinks. Stares, but more...studying, I guess. You can't help staring back. I've never seen eyes like his. Dark brown at the edge, lighter towards the middle, flecked with gold. I shouldn't be thinking like this. We just met. And he's my subordinate.”_

The street below remains empty of people, the reflection of lights and signs splintering between raindrops. There's no breeze, but the air in the apartment begins to lighten. Garrus finds a small cleaning mech tucked into the corner and switches it on.

_“Got my orders this morning. Nothing fancy—just a colony post, some tiny place called Akuze. I think Dad's disappointed I didn't take the_ Copenhagen _posting, but...fuck him. I'm not going to waste my service as a glorified pipe fitter. Mom couldn't be more proud, of course. She's pulling strings already, trying to get me a cruiser billet. Fat fucking chance.”_

From the couch, Kaidan shuffles and mutters but doesn't wake, and Garrus returns to the kitchen. He's not sure whether to be glad or annoyed at the empty fridge, but he wipes down the shelves just the same. The cleaning mech scoots by, sweeping up shards of glass.

_“It's probably too much to hope. Terrified toddler kneecaps you in the middle of a park? I'd remember that. And that fucking holo. Mom sent me copy when I told her my new billet. It's all so far away to her, now. Remember when we were a family? Remember when it was all okay? It's so easy to blame the war and not each other. I don't know. I hope he doesn't remember.”_

Garrus pauses a moment, hand on the faucet, breathing a little unsteadily. He can still picture it, at a distance. He was leaning over the mess table, everyone laughing, the off-color holo floating between Joker's hands. Shepard was braced against the wall, the only time he'd ever seen her shy, telling half the story: a little girl curled into a stranger's shoulder, sucking her thumb, tiny face tracked with drying tears. Almost desperately, he yanks up the faucet handle.

But there's nothing—not even a murmur of malfunction. The only thing he hears is the water rushing into the drain.

“It's not hooked to the VI.”

Garrus glances over his shoulder. Kaidan is half-sitting, rubbing his forehead with the heel of one hand, eyes still closed.

“Oh, good,” Garrus says dryly. “You're awake.”

Kaidan coughs, hands braced on his knees to lever his stiff body upwards.

“That sink's not hooked to the network,” he says. “Just manual.”

“Don't come in here,” Garrus replies, wringing out a sponge. “Keep the smell near the window, please.”

“It's not that bad,” Kaidan scoffs, but sniffs under his arm when he thinks Garrus isn't looking.

“By human standards. Go shower.”

Kaidan stretches, joints cracking and popping indelicately, surveying the apartment with a wary glance.

“You missed a spot,” he says, pointing, before disappearing into the bedroom. Garrus marks his progress by her anecdotes.

_“Doctor said no one would see the scars. They'll be hidden by my ODs, masked, quietly waiting. I keep pressing my fingernails around the edge. The demarcation’s important, somehow. This is who I used to be. This is what I am now. There's a line across my lips, right at the corner. It's healed, but it tastes different when I run my tongue across it.”_

Clean clothes gathered, then, and Kaidan will move on to the shower now. A half-second later she speaks again.

_“I don't care what Mom says. I'll never get used to the sky. Explain the concept as an academic—makes no difference. An emptiness that opens up and releases a flood. Kaidan holds a folded newspaper over my head, grinning. He loves it, though, so I guess I love it too.”_

The rotten fruit tips easily into the bin, leaving oily streaks on the counter.

_“Thick, scaly, brown—taller even than my father. I can't see the ceiling, and the light is blinding. The air presses down, flattened by the swaying mass of green. I pull myself free from my mother's hand and run off, screaming. I am three years old. I am seeing trees for the first time in my life.”_

He matches the temperature as a guess, twisting the faucet on and off, on and off, until the rag and his hand are soaked through.

_“I'm getting so much better at it, too. Toombs's funeral is tomorrow, and I've been practicing. The empty sigh. The hollow look. The right curve of an arm across my stomach, like I'm holding something in. Even Mom buys it. I make the face, and she gets quiet. Lets me slip up to my room and close the door. Sometimes she leaves food outside, like I'm going to starve. I spend the nights with my feet dangling over the windowsill. There's no screen. Like a teacup. Like a smile. I tip too far, and it's all over.”_

He sets the dishes in the sink, and he's done. It's not perfect, by any means, but he can at least pull his bag away from the door—good timing, even, as the apartment echoes with sudden knocking. Kaidan wanders back into the room, towel barely secured over his hips.

“My eyes,” Garrus protests weakly.

“Go get the door.”

It's the shopgirl, grinning, one hand holding up his umbrella, the other holding out a pair of bags.

“Hi,” she says, a little breathlessly, leaning around Garrus for an eyeful of Kaidan's bare chest. “I brought you food.”

_“He puts one hand on my hip and pulls me to the edge of the bed—”_

“Mute!” Kaidan says sharply, and Shepard's voice fizzles out. “Jeanette, who's watching the store?”

“I brought you food,” she repeats, shaking the bags. “All the way from the marina. I didn't think you had anything in. 'Specially not for your friend.”

She favors Garrus with what she no doubt thinks is a sultry smile. Garrus has never been so happy to lack the musculature to reciprocate.

“Laura's not paying you to buy me food,” Kaidan says. “Least of all on her credit.”

“I was just doing it to be nice,” Jeanette replies, sullen. “It's a _gift_ for, you know, you and your friend.”

“It's not a gift,” Kaidan says firmly, fishing through the cushions for his omnitool. Garrus is quicker, tapping out a transfer.

“There. Ninety should cover it.”

She hands over the bags and leaves, stomping down the stairs. Kaidan waves away Garrus's confused look.

“She's in love with anyone that's been off-planet.”

“Please go put on some clothes.”

Kaidan returns to the bedroom, throwing an obscene gesture over his shoulder. Garrus brings the bags to the clean counter, and digs into the bright blue dextro box first.

It's a decent spread, for Earth, not exactly gourmet but also not the usual processed protein mash masquerading as meat and vegetables. They're even thoughtful enough to include sterile-sealed utensils and a plate.

“I never go to the marina,” Kaidan says, pulling a shirt over his head as he returns, and they swap places. Garrus pulls a stool to the counter as Kaidan bangs through the cabinets. “It's too expensive.”

“Pretend it's a picnic,” Garrus says with a shrug. “It's the Council's money, anyway.”

Kaidan arranges a plate, a glass, a knife, a fork—like troops in formal ranks.

“Shouldn't you call him?” he says, all mirth gone. “That's why you're here, isn't it?”

“Maybe I just wanted to spend some time with you. I miss your _ebullient_ nature when you're not around.”

Kaidan says nothing, spearing hunks of meat with more force than required. Garrus sighs, picking through the greens on his own plate.

“He was concerned, Kaidan. We all were. I wanted to find you myself, and he just happened to know how.”

“Well, here I am. Just fine, thanks.”

“You're welcome,” Garrus says, with a twitch of amusement. “Want to talk about what happened?”

“No.”

So they don't. In silence, they finish their meals, listening to the rain and the quiet rush of people returning home. Garrus rises first, neatly folding his napkin around the utensils and plate, setting them back into the blue box, and then dropping the box in the bin. Kaidan stares, jumping at the lack of sound.

“I suppose I'll make my call to Anderson,” Garrus says. “He'll want to know you're alive, at least.”

Kaidan says nothing, eyes back on his food, but as Garrus turns away, he hears a quiet mutter: “ _Unmute_.”

“System,” Garrus says, linking his omnitool to the terminal, “real-time connection to Citadel Embassy Earth. Priority code 6-7-C-4.”

Her voice answers.

_“It's hard to tell what I actually remember, and what's just pieced together from other people's stories. I'm certain I remember his smile. His voice is soft, and he's bending down. I don't know what he said, but I remember the feel of his hands beneath my arms, pulling me into the air, settling my little body on his hip. He wipes my face with one hand, still smiling, tucking my hair behind my ears. Everything about him is warm and comforting. I'm sucking my thumb, face half-buried against his neck. This is what I think of when I think of home.”_

There's a few following minutes of silence—it's not the highest priority channel, and he thinks it might be near midnight there anyway, but eventually the vidscreen pops and fizzles out around Anderson's tired face.

“Garrus? I see you made it out alright.”

“Yes, sir. And I found the apartment, as well.”

“Is he there?”

“Yes, sir.”

Anderson hesitates.

“Does he...will he talk to me?”

Garrus glances at Kaidan's hunched back, but he makes no movement, no noise of agreement or denial.

“Not right now, sir.”

“Okay,” Anderson says, more tired than disappointed. “Thanks for the update.”

Garrus signs off with a nod. Kaidan shoves off from the counter and returns to the couch, arms crossed.

“So,” Garrus says, dropping onto the cushion beside him, “what are we going to do tonight?”

“Same thing I do every night.”

“Get drunk and try to take over the world?”

Kaidan laughs, genuinely, and then fades to a pensive frown.

“I thought I'd be safe here,” he says quietly. “I took her to Vancouver once, but never here. I thought, it'd be better that way. Nothing here to remind me.”

He glances at the terminal.

“Guess you were wrong.”

“Guess so.”

He's slumped into the cushions, addressing his hands.

“They put a kiosk right outside my place on the Citadel. Not intentionally, I suppose, but...”

Garrus nods.

“I've seen them. And her.”

“But it's not her, right? Just this thing with her face and her voice, but sanitized. Focus-tested.”

“That wasn't it, though, was it? Those kiosks, those ads have been around for months.”

“No,” Kaidan says. He sinks a little lower into the couch.

“So, alcohol, huh?” Garrus says bracingly. “Is there some particular human ritual, or do we just get drunk?”

“We just get drunk.”

Jeanette wasn't thoughtful enough to include liquor in her delivery, and Kaidan has nothing dextro around, so Garrus slinks back down the stairs. There isn't much light in the back alleys, but Garrus has no interest in a repeat encounter with the poor, sweet, deluded shopgirl, so he picks his way to the opposite end of the block. Kaidan had only vague suggestions.

“I don't know. I'm usually already drunk when I go.”

The liquor store is a full two blocks past Kaidan's apartment, but it _is_ open, and the attendant is fantastically indifferent to Garrus. They even have more than one type of dextro liquor available—nothing top-shelf, but the idea of variety is enough. He selects four amber-colored bottles of decent size and approaches the counter.

“My friend and I are getting drunk,” he explains to the clerk. “But he's human, and I have no idea what he drinks.”

“About this tall,” the clerk says, holding a hand level a bit above the top of his own head, “dark hair, pale, frowns all the time?”

“...Yes.”

“He's a regular.”

Kaidan is unmoved on Garrus's return, accepting the unopened bottle and setting it on the table.

“Why did you come here?” he asks quietly, as Garrus settles back on the couch.

“The view, mostly. And I always wondered what it would feel like to drown standing up.”

But the time for jokes has passed. Garrus sighs.

“You know exactly why, Kaidan.”

The VI might know as well, throwing on a series of timed lights.

_“Every night at sixteen hundred hours. Mom lets me stand at the door, pajamas, stuffed penguin under one arm, chewing my bottom lip raw. Every night, and the door opens, and this draft of cold, of engine grease and smoke comes rolling in, and every night I launch myself at his knees, shrieking with happiness. I still look up at sixteen hundred. I know he's not there—hasn't been for years, but... That old hope. That's still around.”_

“They didn't know what to do with her stuff,” Kaidan says, voice breaking. “That's what the courier said to me. _Stuff_. Usually it would go to another Spectre, whoever she'd worked closest with, but those two are dead, right? I thought maybe it would be boxes or paperwork or arms she put in storage. I started uploading, without even—and then her voice.”

He's shaking, face obscured beneath his hands.

“It's like suffocating,” Garrus says quietly. “It's like standing in a crowded room you want to get out of, and everyone's pushing back and pushing closer and you think you'll never get out. You think, if you're lucky, maybe you'll disappear.”

“I thought I'd be okay here. If I just got away. But then...”

Kaidan lifts his head, glancing at the terminal.

“No one was meant to hear this. The darkest parts of a person. Of her. And now it's all we have left.”

He implicates Garrus with a mirthless smile.

“It's been almost a year. I still can't believe she's gone.”

“But she is, Kaidan,” Garrus says. “Shepard's gone.”

He nods, certainly not because it's news to him, but then he just leans back and takes a few slow sips of his beer. Silence slips back in between them. The rain starts up again outside, but it's wavering, inconstant, and soon to end.

“Time does not bring relief,” Kaidan says suddenly, eyes drifting to the window, “you all have lied who told me time would ease me of my pain.”

“What's that?”

“Line from a poem. One she liked.”

He sighs and leans again into his hands, scrubbing his face.

“I have to stop coming here,” he says. “I have to let her go.”

Lights flash, and there's a buzz of conversation and foot traffic evaporating outside, somewhere past the glass.

“Maybe,” Garrus says. “But maybe we could stay just one more night. With her.”

Kaidan doesn't say anything at first, eyes intent on the bottle, but then he glances back at Garrus.

“It's always _just one more_ ,” he says, too tired to joke, and then he turns back, eyes roaming the apartment. “System: play all. Then purge.”

And she answers.

**Author's Note:**

> Time does not bring relief; you all have lied  
> Who told me time would ease me of my pain!  
> I miss him in the weeping of the rain;  
> I want him at the shrinking of the tide;  
> The old snows melt from every mountain-side,  
> And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;  
> But last year's bitter loving must remain  
> Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide!  
> There are a hundred places where I fear  
> To go,—so with his memory they brim!  
> And entering with relief some quiet place  
> Where never fell his foot or shone his face  
> I say, “There is no memory of him here!”  
> And so stand stricken, so remembering him!  
> \--Edna St. Vincent-Millay


End file.
